


Cannonball

by Green



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney's a young professor; John's the dean's nephew. John is 16 in this AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cannonball

**Author's Note:**

> Written early 2006. It's abandoned. Anyone who wants to continue this fic is welcome to pick it up where I left off as long as I'm given credit as a cowriter.

When Dr. Weir had motioned Rodney into her office and asked for this one, tiny favor, he'd adamantly refused. He knew nothing about watching kids, even if this one was not really a kid and actually old enough to drive. But the dean had pointed out that Rodney rarely did anything to ingratiate himself to her or any of the rest of the university's staff, and watching out for her nephew for two weeks wouldn't be hard to do. She didn't have to mention that being the youngest professor the university had ever hired put him in a strange position, or that if he wanted time and resources to work on his own projects, he'd better stay in line.

Now, Rodney was stuck with this kid, who seemed to go out of his way to irritate Rodney in any way he could. He especially liked teasing Rodney about working too hard, being an arrogant know-it-all, and telling him he really needed to get laid.

That last bit may have been absolutely true, since the skinny teen was making him feel things that were most definitely unprincipled, not to mention illegal.

John had arrived only three days before with nothing more than a duffel and a skateboard. Dr. Weir dropped him off at Rodney's door and hadn't even waited around to give Rodney any last-minute instructions. Apparently, people were generally supposed to know all about the care and feeding of cocky young teenaged boys.

Rodney answered the door and didn't say anything until he'd looked the kid over with narrowed eyes, taking in his appearance. John was wearing a tight, thin t-shirt and jeans that probably weren't supposed to be baggy, but just naturally hung from his narrow hips that way. His hair was doing something that Rodney was sure was gravitationally impossible, and his lips were curved up in what seemed to be a permanent smirk.

"So, you're Rodney?" the kid asked. "I was wondering who Aunt Liz had roped into keeping me this time."

Rodney frowned. "It's Dr. McKay to you. And what do you mean, this time?"

John shrugged. "You gonna let me in, or do I have to stay out on your porch for two weeks?

"As much as that appeals, I suppose you should come in," Rodney grumbled. "Leave _that_ ," he said, pointing to the skateboard, "outside. And wipe your feet. And don't touch anything in here."

John propped his skateboard against the house and followed him inside, looking around. "Wow, this place is a mess."

Rodney clenched his jaw. "It's not a mess, it's just cluttered. I know where everything is, and if you move anything, I'll ..."

"Spank me?" John said with a smirk.

Rodney tilted his chin up in his most haughty way and looked away. "I'll make your life _hell_. I've been doing it to my students for years, I'm sure I can find some excruciating form of punishment for you if you deserve it."

Instead of looking properly cowed, the way most people who knew the Great and Powerful McKay usually did when faced with such a threat, John just grinned and dropped his duffel on the floor. "Oh, man, this is gonna be _fun_."

***

"So, where do I put my stuff?" John asked. Rodney had almost forgotten he was there, having gone back to the stacks of papers littering his dining room table about two minutes after letting the boy inside.

Rodney waved distractedly. "Put it in the corner somewhere. And don't touch anything!" he reiterated.

"Right, whatever," John said, and walked back out.

Some time later, when Rodney's eyes were bleary from calculations and he was no longer able to concentrate fully on his work, he found John asleep on the couch, the television turned down low. John looked so young and relaxed, and Rodney wondered how long ago it had been when he'd had the luxury of just sitting and watching TV until he drifted off.

He found himself grabbing a throw off the side of the couch and covering John with it, telling himself it was only because Dr. Weir would probably have him killed if her nephew got pneumonia while in his care.

Rodney decided another pot of coffee wasn't what he needed, and (quietly) stomped up the stairs to get a few hours worth of sleep. It was already three in the morning. He calculated he could sleep four hours, get up at seven, eat something, have his coffee, and then get back to work.

He hadn't counted on a certain annoying houseguest turning his alarm off and letting him oversleep.

When he finally woke up to the scents of food and fresh coffee, his room was hot with the midday sun. He squinted and glanced over at his bedside clock, and was horrified to realize it was ten past noon.

Still wearing the same clothes he'd worn the day before, Rodney practically ran down the stairs to find out just what was going on. He found John in the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, a dishtowel thrown casually over one bare shoulder. He had a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other.

"What the hell?" Rodney asked, blinking his eyes furiously to push away their fuzzy sleep-glaze.

John looked up in surprise. "Oh, hi. I, um, was hoping you'd sleep a little longer. I was gonna bring up your breakfast." He set the spatula aside and put the pan back on the stove-top, then lazily scratched his flat, nearly hairless belly with one hand. Rodney knew he should scream how unsanitary that was, and how he'd probably be infecting his food with teenaged-boy cooties, but he couldn't seem to draw his eyes away from that slow, erotic touch.

"Um ..."

"Go take a shower, Rodney," John said, breaking the spell. "This should all be done by the time you're through."

Rodney was so surprised, by all of it, that he was half-way to his bathroom before he remembered to call back down the stairs, "That's _Dr. McKay_!"

He didn't hear John's answering laughter, but he could almost _feel_ it.

The shower was hot, as hot as he could stand it without it scalding his skin, just the way Rodney liked it. It felt good. _He_ felt good. He'd caught up on some sleep his body had obviously been needing, even though he fully intended on yelling at John about touching his things -- especially his alarm clock, because that was just going too far. But the thought of food, food actually _cooked_ in a kitchen and not ordered or thawed in the microwave, made him forget about it by the time he was finished and dressed in fresh clothes.

He tried not to look too enthusiastic. "What'd you make? I don't smell burning, and I guess I should be grateful you didn't burn my house down around my ears while I was sleeping."

John grinned and motioned him to the kitchen table, where a full plate of eggs, toast, and sausage sat ready for him. Where John had found sausage and bread not completely covered in mold, Rodney was afraid to ask.

"How do you like your coffee?" John asked instead of answering his tirade.

Rodney sat down in front of the food and said, "Extra sweet," without looking at him. He picked up a fork and took a tentative bite of eggs, almost moaning as the fluffy texture almost melted in his mouth. The next few bites quickly followed.

John put a mug of coffee next to him and sat down with a plate of his own. "Any good?" He was obviously fishing for compliments, and Rodney wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of telling him it was the best food he'd had in weeks.

"Passable," Rodney said around his mouthful, then took a big bite of toast.

John grinned in a way that let Rodney know he wasn't getting away with anything, the little brat.

Rodney washed down some food with a swig of coffee -- not too hot, just hot enough -- and gave the boy a suspicious look. "Now, what's all this for?" he asked, gesturing to the food with his half-eaten triangle of toast.

Shrugging, John looked down on his own plate. He looked a little embarrassed. "Maybe I wanted to make a good impression on you," he mumbled.

"Hmph. Did your aunt give you some pointers on how to bribe me?"

John looked surprised. "No, she just, uh, said I'd better not piss you off too bad."

"Yeah?" Rodney asked smugly. Perhaps Dr. Weir valued him more than she let on.

"Yeah," John said. "I guess she doesn't have a whole lot of people left who she can pawn me off on. I seem to have worn out my welcome with most everybody."

Well, there went that theory.

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Just how often are you sent off to stay with strangers like this?"

Again, John shrugged, as if it were no big deal and completely normal.

"Not too much, but ... well, I just kinda got kicked out of school again," he admitted, but quickly added, "Which is totally stupid, because I could have graduated already if my parents had just let me! They just wanted to keep me in that damned military academy instead of sending me off to college where I'd have 'less authority' or some shit like that."

Rodney mulled that over. "How old are you again?"

"Sixteen," John grumbled, nibbling on a piece of toast. No wonder the boy was so skinny, he ate like a little lab mouse.

"I started university classes full-time at thirteen," Rodney said, then realized he sounded like he was bragging. "I mean, it's not that big a deal going early. Of course, my mom dropped me off and picked me up every day, so that was a little different than going off on my own. Which I did when I was sixteen, but I was used to the schedules and workload by then."

John eyed him, a light that looked suspiciously like respect shining in his eyes. "When'd you get your doctorate?"

Rodney puffed up, just a little. "I received my first doctorate when I was seventeen. Second one the year after." He shrugged. "Took that long just to make my thesis advisors happy, or I would have gotten them both when I was your age."

"So, how old are you now?" John asked lightly, but Rodney was starting to wonder if there was anything the kid said without some kind of hidden agenda.

"Twenty-two," he answered suspiciously. "Why?"

John shrugged. "You look a lot older, I guess. I thought you were like, I don't know. Thirty or something."

Rodney scowled. "I'm the university's pet project. They hired me because they wanted extra funding, and the prestige of having a former child genius on their staff. I try to look ... professional. Stop looking at me like that, I didn't say I try to look _ancient_."

"Whatever, Mr. Pet Project," John said with a grin.

" _Dr. McKay_."

John just snickered and didn't say anything else for the next, oh, five minutes of so, leaving Rodney to finish his breakfast in relative peace.

*

"You own this house?" John asked after his five minutes of silence seemed to be up. He must have had a little internal timer that told him when he should speak again.

Rodney grunted and picked up his empty plate to put into the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes ... except there weren't any.

"I'll get that!" John said cheerfully.

"I don't think I've ever met a teenager who voluntarily does housework," Rodney mumbled.

"What can I say? I'm a catch."

If Rodney's brain had not refused to go there, he would have sworn the kid was flirting with him.

"Maybe you should tell me more about all these strangers you've been handed off to instead of kissing my ass all the time," Rodney said.

John shrugged and washed dishes. "When my parents are supposed to have me, they send me here to Aunt Liz. She's busy a lot, and I end up going other places."

"You mentioned wearing out your welcome?" Rodney pointedly asked.

"I talk a lot. Sometimes." He shrugged again, which seemed to be his default expression. "Ask a lot of questions. People usually find it annoying."

Rodney could relate. Everyone he knew considered him either annoying, irritating, or just generally a jerk. "I'm sure you're not that bad," he sniffed.

John shot him a grateful grin over his still-bare shoulder. Somehow, during the food and the sparkling conversation -- or maybe it was just the food -- Rodney had forgotten the kid was nearly naked. And tanned. And smooth.

"Go put a damned shirt on," Rodney groused, and went into the dining room -- which was his office, now, really -- to work.

It took John all of fifteen minutes to come bothering him again. At least this time, he was wearing a shirt. Not that it helped much -- it was thin and tight against his skin, and if Rodney had tried, he probably could have counted the kid's ribs through the material. "Can't your parents afford decent fitting clothes for you?" Rodney snapped as John leaned over the 'desk' to place a fresh cup of steaming coffee in front of him.

John didn't seem to take it personally. "What's wrong with my clothes?" he asked with a lazy grin.

Rodney scowled and refused to answer, hoping John would take the hint and leave him alone again.

He didn't. Instead, the lanky teenager decided to sit at the opposite end of the table and pick up several sheets of paper.

"How many times have I told you not to touch anything?" Rodney snapped.

"Are these electromagnetic field formulas?" John said in reply. How he'd gotten that from the chicken scratch that particular student called handwriting was beyond Rodney.

"I'm grading papers. Everything is in a specific order, and ..."

"Well, you can give this one a big fat _Fail_ ," John said. "Whoever tried these has absolutely no understanding of vector notation."

Rodney was up and around the table before he knew it, snatching the paper away from John and looking for himself. "Huh. Well, you're right. But anyone with even an elementary understanding of Maxwell's ..." He trailed off and gave John a narrow gaze. "How'd _you_ know that?"

John gave a little nonchalant little shrug, but Rodney was convinced he was deliberately trying to earn his respect.

"Out!" Rodney shouted. "Go ... ride your skateboard or watch MTV or whatever it is you people do."

" _You people_?" John said with a smirk. "What kind of people am I, exactly?"

"Annoying little teenaged ..." Rodney muttered.

"Hey!" John said, looking offended. "I'm not little. I'm _lean_."

Rodney snorted.

"And if these papers you're supposed to be grading are so important, why are you working on something else?"

"You know, you were right, you ask a lot of damned questions," Rodney groused. "And for your information, I have a project with a deadline that needs my full attention right now. I don't have time to deal with idiotic students' ideas of physics."

John propped his elbows on the table and held his head up with two hands. He looked ... cute, almost. In an utterly irritating, too-young-for-Rodney way. "I could help," he said slowly. "With the papers. I mean, I'm sure you have an answer key around here if there's anything I don't know." He said it like that wasn't really a possibility. "I can grade, and you can work on your project."

"Aren't you taking this ass-kissing thing a little too far?"

Something mischievous gleamed in John's eyes, but was gone again so fast Rodney wasn't sure he'd actually seen it. "I don't think so. Plus, it sounds like fun."

"Fun," Rodney said flatly.

John shrugged again and gave him a look that was almost puppyish.

"Fine," Rodney said, shuffling through some papers for a red pen and the answer key. "Make sure you leave some really scathing remarks for the most incompetent students. They'll never learn if no one's riding their collective asses."

John grinned. "Yes, sir."

An hour later, John was furiously scribbling notes on papers with a scowl on his face, and Rodney found himself watching him quite fondly. Then he realized what he was doing and told himself he had to stop. The last thing he needed was to get _attached_ to the little brat.

Getting back to his own formulas, he didn't notice when John got up and brought fresh coffee, but it was there just the same. He opened his laptop and sent an email off to a colleague on the project, got a quick response, and wished he had his whiteboard. He made a vague note to himself to get one for his home, and then huffed.

"I have to go out," he announced.

John looked up at him with a grin, which should not have been possible after -- Rodney checked his watch -- three straight hours of grading papers. "Where're we going?" John asked.

"Not you, _me_. I'm going to my lab. You ... stay here and stay out of trouble."

John's eyes widened. "You're leaving me here _alone_? Unsupervised? Without the constant attention a juvenile delinquent such as myself so obviously needs?"

Rodney was sure the kid was putting him on, but he couldn't help the high pitched, "Juvenile delinquent?" that came out of his mouth.

"Oh, yeah. Well, you know how I said I got kicked out of school? Well, it's not the first time. I've been kicked out of four schools just in the last school year. Before that, I ... well, I can't even count how many times I've been expelled. For some pretty _serious_ infractions, too. But, hey, if you have enough trust in me, a virtual stranger, that you'll let me stay here, alone, in your home while you're gone for god knows how many hours ..."

Rodney glared at him. "Oh, shut up already. Fine. You can come. But only because I'm not entirely sure if you're putting me on or not." Of course, Rodney was sure John was lying, or at least embellishing so Rodney would let him tag along. But Rodney knew what loneliness looked like, had seen it in his own eyes too many times to count as he stared into the mirror, and he felt a stab of pity for the kid. Which he would never admit to anyone.

"Okay!" John said, oblivious to any thoughts Rodney was having. "Want me to put the rest of the coffee in a thermos for you?"

"The rest of the coffee?" Rodney was sure he'd at least drank a pot by now.

"I, uh, made some more," John said, a little shyly. "'Bout an hour ago."

"Oh," Rodney said, not knowing what else to say. "Well, thanks."

John grinned, as if that one little word was enough to brighten his whole day. "Sure. Now, let's go!"

Rodney hoped this little trip didn't end in utter disaster.

*

John looked at Rodney's lab, and ultimately, Rodney, with a kind of awe Rodney only saw in the most seriously intelligent of his students. It made him decide to have a talk with Dr. Weir about John's education and future the next time they met.

John went around to some of the others on Rodney's team, asking questions, poking with this or that, until everyone was exasperated. Rodney was proud.

He pulled John aside after the first half-hour and asked him not to bother the minions, and if he had any important questions, he should ask _Rodney_ so he'd get the most accurate response. John smiled and nodded as if this was great wisdom, and just watched from then on, only stepping in occasionally to ask Rodney something. His questions were all intelligent and well-thought, and Rodney had no problem explaining some of the finer points of physics to him. It reminded Rodney of the first time _he_ had visited a room full of competent scientists.

Not that he was getting attached to John or anything like that.

Several long hours and long arguments with Radek later, Rodney looked around and didn't see John anywhere.

"He is asleep over there," Radek said, pointing to an empty lab table John had curled up on top of.

Rodney instantly felt guilty. His watch showed it was two in the morning, and everyone else looked like they wanted to do just as John had.

"We'll continue this tomorrow," Rodney announced, and then got a few groans in return.

"Tomorrow's Sunday," someone said.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Fine. Monday morning, seven o'clock, I want everyone here and ready to work."

Obviously stunned that Rodney had decided to give them a day off, no one said anything to contradict him and scurried out of the lab quickly, white coats billowing behind them all. Rodney walked over to John and shook him awake gently.

"C'mon, kid, time to go home." He hoped he didn't have to carry John out to the car like a sleepy toddler.

"I'm up," John said, opening his eyes and giving a sleepy smile. "Did you finish?"

Rodney snorted. "Not hardly. The project's slated to be finished sometime in the next two years, though."

John got up slowly, like he was afraid of a head-rush. "We coming back tomorrow?"

"Nope. Tomorrow is going to be one of those rare days off. Well, for them. I'm sure I'll work plenty at home."

Rodney locked up the lab and then they drove back to his house.

"Um, you don't have to sleep on the couch, you know," Rodney said when John settled down to do just that. "I've got a guest room." He didn't mention that it was probably the girliest room on the face of the earth. Jeannie had decorated it for her infrequent visits.

John made a sour face. "Yeah, I know, I saw it when I was snooping around this morning. Who picked out the wallpaper, your mother?"

"Sister," Rodney said tightly.

"Uh, no offense, but I think I'll just sleep down here. If that's okay with you."

Rodney shrugged --- obviously the kid was having a negative effect on him – and said, "Fine with me." He wasn't very tired, himself, though. His mind was still buzzing with equations and possibilities from the work he'd done. "Scoot over a little, though. I think I'll sit down here for a while before going up."

John beamed at him. "Want to watch MST3K with me?"

Rodney woke up two hours later, sprawled out on the sofa with John curled up next to him like a contented cat. He almost didn't want to move, but he forced himself to. Just because it had been way too long since he'd had this sort of human contact didn't mean he was going to take advantage of an innocent sixteen year old boy, even if he _did_ just want to use him as a blanket.

Moving slowly and rearranging John into a more comfortable position, Rodney covered the kid with the throw and went up to bed. He didn't set his alarm.

***

Rodney woke up with John grinning down at him.

"Ahh!" he said, but he couldn't pop up because -- somehow -- John was sitting on him or something. Or maybe he was just resting his hands on either side of Rodney's covers, therefore creating a trap of sorts. He glared up at the kid. "Okay, so yesterday was 'Kiss your host's ass' day, and today is 'Scare the shit out of him' day?"

John's grin didn't waver. "Nope. Today is your day off, which means we're going somewhere fun."

"I thought it meant I get to sleep in and not have to worry about leaving my house," Rodney grumbled, then realized he still couldn't move. "Get off me!" Not only was John way, way too close and Rodney had one of those morning erections that hadn't quite gotten the idea that a possible lap-full of John Sheppard was a _bad_ thing, but John had obviously just had a shower, and there were still visible drops of water on his -- again, _naked_ \-- shoulders. He smelled entirely too good, too. Which made Rodney just glare at him harder.

"I'm moving, I'm moving," John said, that bright-as-the-sun smile still in place.

"Don't you ever wear _clothes_?" Rodney said.

John had the temerity to look bewildered. "I've got jeans on," he said. It made Rodney wonder if that was all he had on. Kid probably didn't even wear underwear.

And that thought led to other, even worse, thoughts that had Rodney being a little more violent with his covers than he'd intended.

"You're really tense, you know that?" John said, eyeing him now from across the room.

Rodney, realizing he was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, wrapped a blanket around his middle and glared some more. "I am _not_ tense. And even if I am, it's only because you ... you woke me up by jumping half-naked on me in my bed!"

John's expression went from contemplative and back to grinning in the space of about a second. Rodney didn't want to know what he was thinking.

"You need to get laid," John said, as if it were some big discovery he'd just made.

"Get. Out!" Rodney roared.

John giggled -- giggled! -- as he ran out of Rodney's bedroom and off to god knew where.

Rodney came down the stairs some time later, showered, dressed, and ready to yell at John some more. But when he found him in the kitchen, again, cooking, _again_ , he softened, just a little.

"So it's 'Scare the hell out of your host, and _then_ kiss his ass' day?" Rodney said, sitting at the kitchen table.

"Who said I was cooking for you?" John drawled.

Rodney looked at him quickly, and his horror and disappointment must have shown on his face because John gave him a grin and put a plate in front of him quickly.

"Kidding!"

"Evil little ... oh, is this steak? Where did you find steak?"

"Frozen in a block of ice in the corner of your freezer," John said lightly, setting a cup of coffee in front of Rodney as well. "Which reminds me, we should go shopping today. I think I've pretty much used up all your available food."

Rodney grunted as he shoveled food into his mouth, then closed his eyes as he chewed. Not only was John intelligent and incredibly good looking, the boy could definitely cook. If he were just a few years older, Rodney'd be hounding him for a date. Or possibly just offering blow-jobs in return for his food.

Which was definitely _not_ a place he was going in his mind. At all. Even though John's bare toes were peeking out from beneath the bottoms of his jeans in the most delectable way.

"Are you staring at my feet?" John asked, sitting beside Rodney with his own plate.

"What? No!" Rodney quickly protested. "Why would I do something like that?"

John shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you have a foot fetish or something."

"You're way too young to be talking about ... things like that."

"What, feet?"

Rodney glared. "Fetishes. Sex. Foot sex. Whatever."

John nearly choked on his steak. " _Foot sex_?"

Feeling the heat rising in his face, Rodney tilted his chin up and gave John his most imperious glare. "Stop that."

John finished his choking -- laughter, whatever -- and smirked at Rodney. "You're really something. And what do you mean, I'm 'way too young'? I'm sixteen! You act like I'm ten."

"You're still a child," Rodney said reasonably.

John gave him a half-lidded, sexy pout that was anything but childish. "Not so much."

Horrified, Rodney held his hands up and closed his eyes. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"God, you act like I'm some little blushing virgin!"

"Oh my _god_ , you're not a virgin?"

"I'm _sixteen_!"

Rodney stared at John in dismay. "You _slut_!"

"I've been in boarding schools for most of my life! It would have been impossible to stay a virgin!"

"Well, yeah, if you went around like a little _slut_!"

Instead of looking properly ashamed of himself, John let out a howl of laughter. "You're such a prude!"

"I am not!"

"Okay, _Dr. McKay_ ," John said, "how old were you when _you_ had sex for the first time?"

"I am _not_ having this discussion with you," Rodney said sternly. Then, "Do blowjobs count?"

John giggled and shook his head. "Nope."

"Oh, well, then, uh ..." Rodney thought about it, then asked, "with a boy or a girl?"

John rolled his eyes. "Either. And it doesn't matter if you were the top or the bottom, if you were gonna ask that next."

"I wasn't!" Rodney said, but he was glad John had said it before he was forced to. He thought some more. "Seventeen," he said miserably.

"Oh my god!" John exclaimed, looking absolutely horror stricken.

"What?"

"You're such a _slut_!" he said, then nearly fell out of his chair laughing.

"Ha, fucking ha," Rodney grumbled, viciously stabbing the next bite of steak with his fork.

*

After that very insane and very disconcerting breakfast, John begged more for the trip to the grocery store and Rodney, being the kind, sensitive man he was, agreed on the condition that John grade papers until lunch time in exchange.

They ended up at one of those huge chain multi-department stores that sold motor oil and electronics and ties along with their cantaloupes. John looked like he was in heaven, and Rodney felt like he was just being pulled along for the ride.

John piled a grocery cart full of all kinds of fresh foods. There were vegetables Rodney didn't know the names of and meats Rodney had been sure you could only find in restaurants.

"You sure you know how to cook all this stuff?" Rodney asked.

John gave him a look that said, 'What are you, an idiot?' and nodded his head.

"Don't get anything with citrus. I'm allergic," Rodney said.

"Okay."

"No, really, I'm _deathly allergic_ to citrus."

"I said _okay_."

"I could _die_ from just the barest _hint_ of the stuff."

" _Okay_ , Rodney," John said, looking at the other shoppers. He seemed like he was searching for something.

"What are you looking at?" Rodney huffed. "You're staring at people. Stop it." He wasn't sure why it made him uncomfortable, but it did.

"You know," John said thoughtfully, "you can usually pick up dates in the grocery story."

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Is this one of your teenaged hormone things?"

John laughed. "Not for me, for _you_. You're seriously tense, and like I told you before, you need to get laid."

Rodney sputtered a little and nearly smacked the back of the kid's head.

"How bout that one?" John asked, pointing out a muscle-bound hunk wearing a tank top and tight cut-off shorts.

Rodney shuddered and shook his head. "Probably not a brain in that thick skull."

"Okay," John said slowly, and walked on, pushing the cart ahead of him. "You have a coffee grinder?"

"Takes too much time," Rodney said.

"It tastes a lot better if you grind your own beans, you know. I'll do it for you, and we can pick up a little plug-in grinder over in house-wares."

"You're only staying for two weeks," Rodney pointed out.

"Yeah, but by the time I leave, you'll be addicted to the freshness." John smiled.

"No. Just ... get the already ground stuff."

John shrugged and put a several packages of good coffee grounds into the cart. "Just thought you should have the best." Rodney felt a little warm and fuzzy at that, until John pointed out another shopper. "What about him?"

The second guy John picked out for Rodney was wearing a suit and picking up a jar of dry Coffee Mate.

"Okay, first rule of dating, never cruise someone who's dressed up on Sunday. That means they're either just going to or just leaving some hocus-pocus religious observance, and will probably want to talk about their god at some point. Which is just ridiculous."

"You don't believe in God?" John asked.

Rodney snorted. "No. Oh, and if you're going to use some sort of creamer in your coffee, you should definitely not get the dry kind. That's just disgusting. So, not only have you picked out some Jesus-freak, you've also chosen someone with absolutely no taste whatsoever. Way to go, there, John."

John rolled his eyes. "Are you always so picky?"

Rodney scowled. "I'm not _picky_ , I just have _standards_. And if these are the kinds of people you think I should sleep with, you obviously have no standards yourself, and I was right in my initial labeling of _slut_."

John just snickered at that.

"And why do you keep picking out guys? I never told you I was gay."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Um, are you?" There was a certain hopeful look in John's eyes that Rodney was not going to analyze.

"I don't like labels," Rodney said with a sniff. "I happen to like both men _and_ women. Preferably women with blonde hair and really nice breasts."

John sort of scrunched up his nose at that. "Whatever."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot, your only criteria for sexual partners is 'Are they breathing?'" Rodney grumbled.

"Well, that's not the only thing," John said, his eyes twinkling. "They should definitely have a dick."

"Not talking about this with you," Rodney sing-songed.

"Why not? Because you're a prude?"

Rodney glared. "Because you're underage and ... and it's unethical."

"Oh, please."

"Do we have everything yet?" Rodney asked with a pointed, stubborn glare.

"I dunno, you need lube? Cause we can pick some up while we're here ..."

"If you don't stop it, I'm not letting you anywhere near my lab, ever again."

John actually looked _stricken_ at that statement, and was strangely silent until after they'd made it through the checkout and were back in Rodney's car.

"'m sorry," John mumbled.

"You're very precocious, you know that?"

John gave him a slight smile. "Well, yeah."

"It's just weird. When I was sixteen I ... well, I'd never say any of that to an adult."

"Would you stop making such a big deal about my age?" John said with a scowl.

"You're _sixteen_. Do you even have a driver's license?"

John mumbled something.

"Sorry, didn't catch that. Your aunt did _what_?"

"Aunt Liz took it away from me," John repeated. "After the police brought me home from a drag strip."

"Oh, god," Rodney said. "So you're _reckless and stupid_ on top of everything else?"

"I'm not stupid! And it was perfectly safe. I'm a good driver!"

"Reckless. You could kill yourself doing that kind of shit!"

John slouched down in his seat and pouted. "It's fun."

"It's _dangerous_."

John kind of rolled his eyes and looked out the window.

Despite his pouting, John put away all the groceries himself, waving Rodney away when he attempted to help. Apparently, John had decided the kitchen was now _his_ domain, and therefore Rodney got absolutely no say in where anything went.

When John finished, Rodney pointed towards the dining room and the unmarked papers, reminding John of their 'deal'. John sort of skulked off and Rodney tried to figure out what to do with himself now that someone was doing his work, his house was relatively clean, and he didn't have to go in to the lab. He felt _tense_. Maybe he really did need to get laid. He just wished his highly overactive imagination would stop showing him the constant slide-show of John's tanned, shirtless self, bare feet and that knowing grin.

_Sixteen!_ he told himself, not to mention, _Dr. Weir's nephew!_

 

***

 

John came out of the 'office' about ten minutes to noon, looking way too perky -- once again -- for someone who'd just been grading papers. Rodney secretly thought the kid had a little sadistic streak, and liked berating the students for their stupidity just as much as he did. Not that Rodney was sadistic, he just had no tolerance for laziness, let alone lack of intelligence.

Rodney followed John into the kitchen, trailing after him like some sort of starved puppy looking for scraps. He hated himself for it, and yet couldn't seem to help himself. "What's for lunch?" he asked, trying to keep the hopeful sound out of his voice.

"How do you feel about chili?" John answered.

Rodney did not start drooling. Nor did he notice that John had his shoes off again, and those damned toes were wiggling and scrunching as John stood there and waited.

"Sounds good," Rodney said.

"You're doing it again," John said slowly.

Rodney looked up. "What?"

"You were staring at my feet. Again."

"They're ... " _nice feet_ , "No I wasn't!" Rodney snapped.

John grinned. "You like my feet. Or is it my toes?"

"Just ... cook something and stop talking!" Rodney said.

"Yes, sir," John said, still grinning. He turned around and reached up into a cabinet for something, and his t-shirt rode up far enough to give Rodney a glimpse of smooth, tanned skin. As usual, John's jeans were riding low on his hips, so it was a really, _really_ nice sight. John turned back around with a couple of bowls and gave Rodney a wink that made him blush furiously.

"Brat," Rodney mumbled.

"You like me," John said, flashing his straight, white teeth.

"You're delusional," Rodney said with a snort. "I don't like _anyone_."

"You like _me_." He looked way too sure of the fact.

"You're tolerable."

"Just _tolerable_?" John said with a little mock pout.

"You're irritating and reckless and ... and ..."

"Cute?" John said hopefully.

"Oh, _please_ ," Rodney groaned. "Just fix the damned food!"

"I don't have to cook for you, you know," John replied. "My culinary skills are a privilege, not a right."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. The kid was looking way too smug. "I could make you sleep on the porch, you know."

"That's child abuse! You're going to turn me into your personal slave with threats and punishments! Oh, no, whatever shall I _do_?" John said theatrically, holding the back of one hand to his forehead. "Next you'll bring out the whips and manacles!"

Rodney couldn't but laugh. "You're such a little drama queen," he said, gasping. "Child abuse. Ha! You're no more a child than ... than ..."

"Ah ha!" John said, suddenly straightening and looking triumphant. "So you finally admit it!"

Rodney snickered. "I admit nothing."

"But you just did! You said I wasn't a child! Now you have to take back everything you've ever said about ..." He trailed off and suddenly looked uncomfortably predatory. "Now I just have to get you to admit you think I'm hot," he said with a slow, lazy, _sexy_ smirk.

Rodney turned his attention to the ceiling. "Some of us are mature enough not to think of sex every moment of every day."

"Oh, don't worry Rodney, I have patience. And plenty of time."

"Just ... cook! Or something. I ... have work to do," Rodney said, flustered. The fact that John thought less than two weeks was 'plenty of time' to seduce him was enough to make him want to run.

"Uh huh," John said, then called after him, "I left a page open on your laptop, I hope you don't mind!"

Rodney's retreat was hasty and hiding out in his dining room was a completely rational response to an oversexed, overconfident sixteen year old.

The page left open on Rodney's laptop -- how many times had he said 'don't touch my stuff' to the kid? -- was a [wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Age_of_consent) entry. Titled _Age of Consent_. Which Rodney did _not_ want to read, but did so anyway. Only out of intellectual curiosity, and not because he was thinking of the lean, flirty little tease who was currently bouncing around his kitchen in his bare feet.

The fact was, he felt nothing but pure elation over the fact that he could -- legally, if he really _wanted_ to -- have sex with John. Which had him feeling dirty and _wrong_. And confused. Very, very confused.

Part of him wanted to run into the kitchen to smack John for even leaving the page open and giving him these _thoughts_ , and another part of him wanted to run into the kitchen and peel the kid's clothes off and explore every bit of that lean, tanned body with his tongue.

But mostly, he wanted to hide in his office for the duration of his life where he would never, ever have to face John again.

Eventually, though, the smell of food overruled his basic self-preservation instincts, and he turned off his laptop in a huff (after bookmarking the wiki entry) and stomping into the kitchen with a glower.

"Was wondering when you'd come in. Food's been ready for a while, now," John said in the most annoyingly innocent of tones.

Rodney, afraid to say anything, or even look at John, just grunted and sat down at the table.

"What's wrong?" John asked, putting a bowl of steamy, delicious smelling chili in front of Rodney.

"Nothing," Rodney grumbled.

"Are you mad at me?" John asked, sitting beside Rodney and giving him one of those puppy-dog looks.

"Yes," Rodney said. "No."

"Which is it?"

"I don't know," Rodney said mournfully.

"Do you want to fuck me?" John said hopefully.

"What?" Rodney said, nearly overturning his chili. "No!"

John's expression turned disappointed and he stared down at his own bowl, stirring aimlessly. "You don't think I'm hot?"

"You're ... no! Stop it right now!" Rodney said. He wiggled uncomfortably in his seat. "You're not my type. Uh, sorry."

John looked up at him. "So, what _is_ your type?"

"Mature," Rodney said flatly.

"Go on," John said with a nod.

"Um, intelligent. And ... a sense of humor isn't a turn-off," Rodney said.

"And I'm not those things?" John pouted.

"Breasts!" Rodney said smugly. "I like them. You don't have any."

John rolled his eyes. "You already told me you're bi."

"Yes, well, lately I find myself more drawn to breasts. And blonde hair. Silky blondes with long, curvy legs and _breasts_. Big ones."

John snickered. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"And I know I mentioned _mature_ , and you are most definitely not _that_."

"Am too," John mumbled, looking hurt.

"Are not!"

John glared at him. "And you're _so_ mature," he said sarcastically.

"I am! I'm very mature. Even when I was your age I was mature!"

"But it's impossible for _me_ to be, because of ... what?"

"You ... you race cars! And ride a skateboard! You probably have skinned knees and ... and mono!"

" _Mono_?" John said incredulously.

"Yes. Mono. And god knows what else. One side of immaturity is being reckless, sexually."

"What makes you think I do _that_? I'm not an idiot. I always use protection."

Rodney eyed him. "You do?"

"Yes," John said defensively. "I'm not a moron."

"How am I supposed to know that? You're trying to seduce your _babysitter_ ," Rodney said pointedly.

John shrugged. "I like you."

"You do? Wait, don't answer that. I don't want you going into any details," Rodney said quickly. It was a complete lie, because usually no one liked him unless they wanted something. Something other than _sex_ , that was.

"I think you have a sexy brain," John said teasingly, reaching over to run his fingers through Rodney's hair before he could be stopped.

"Quit that," Rodney said irritably, batting John's hand away. He gave John a suspicious look. "Do you try to seduce _all_ your babysitters? Because that might account for there being a small pool of people willing to take you in, now."

John laughed. "Of course not. You're the first."

Oddly enough, Rodney believed him. He just wasn't sure why. It _could_ be that he trusted John, or it maybe it was just that he liked the ego boost it gave him.

"Well ... stop it. I'm not going to ... to sleep with you," Rodney said with a definitive lift of his chin. "You can't charm me, I'm completely resistant."

"Hmm," John said thoughtfully. "We'll see."

That scared Rodney more than anything.

*

Monday morning did not come soon enough. Being alone with John Sheppard was like being alone with a big lean wildcat. In heat. Or maybe Rodney was the one in heat, and John was the one circling him and sniffing and trying to pounce. Or maybe Rodney was putting too much thought into the analogy.

After several hours in Rodney's lab, he had two classes he had to teach. He agreed that John could sit in as long as he just kept his mouth shut and didn't cause any trouble.

John didn't cause trouble, but about fifteen minutes into Rodney's first lecture, he started talking. But it wasn't to Rodney. Apparently, Rodney could sit back and relax instead of answering some of his denser students' inane questions. John did a pretty good job of it in his stead.

"What kind of question is that?" John's first outburst began. "This is a university class, not ninth grade! How did you even get out of high school? Unless you've hit your head recently, you obviously need some kind of remedial course in physics. Do you even know what parabolic _means_?" He strode up to the front of the class and grabbed a dry erase marker. "Dr. McKay, if I may?" he asked. Rodney gave him a bit of a numb nod, and John started scribbling away at the whiteboard. "Look at these two graphs. This one," he stabbed at the first drawing, "is a cannonball on a plane. See the trajectory? That's _parabolic_. We can set up a x-y coordinate system in that plane and describe the trajectory by giving y as a function of x." He scribbled an equation off to the side.

Rodney's pants suddenly felt a little tight.

"This one," John said with another stab at the board, "is a light child's ball on a plane. See where it drops off? Less density equals more air resistance. This is _elliptical_ , and you have to take much more things into account, since the variables are not constant." He scribbled a little bit more and then glared at the student who had made the original mistake of asking the ridiculous question.

"Are ... are you Dr. McKay's new TA?" the student – Rodney couldn't remember his name – asked.

Rodney snorted with laughter and the rest of the class looked at him in shock. Apparently they weren't used to him doing that.

John looked just as amused. "I'll be filling in as his assistant for the next two weeks, yes." There was some grumbling from the class. John glared at them some more. "And now that I've explained something very simple using rudimentary pictures and hand gestures, could we please get on with the actual _science_ you're supposed to be learning here?"

Rodney wanted to bang his head on his desk and groan. He could resist the charming smile and the delicious body, but how could he possibly hold out against John's brain?

The rest of the class went smoothly, to Rodney's way of thinking, as he answered some of the questions John seemed mystified at. It wasn't that Rodney was showing off, exactly, but when John looked at him like _that_ , and Rodney remembered his 'sexy brain' comment, he just couldn't seem to help himself.

Whenever John could, though, he spoke up loudly and abrasively against some of the more lack-witted students. There were some whispers of 'Mini-McKay', and Rodney wasn't sure if he should feel proud of that or not.

The next class was even better, as Rodney and John seemed to pick up a rhythm that only the two of them seemed to be aware of, taking turns at snarking and snapping at students.

Rodney felt so good after that class that he decided to take John out for lunch instead of heading straight to the lab, as he normally did, to take out his frustrations on the other scientists working there.

After a nice, companionable lunch during which John asked more questions and Rodney waxed on and on about dark matter and imaginary numbers, he took John home so he could check his email and call the lab to see if he was needed for something.

There was a message from Dr. Weir on his machine, checking up on John.

Rodney was quick to call her back and let her know everything was going well. Dr. Weir asked a few confused questions and asked to talk to John.

A few minutes later, John handed the phone back to Rodney. "She wants to talk to you again."

Rodney took the phone and was immediately treated to a very outraged voice. "Oh my _god_ , Rodney, you're turning him into another _you_!"

"Wait, what?" Rodney asked. He'd been expecting some glowing praise on handling Dr. Weir's troubled young nephew with such brilliant care.

"Did you _hear_ him? And you took him to your classes? You let him assist you? What are you thinking, the boy is only sixteen! And he's being smug and sarcastic and ... and _you_!"

"He's finally able to use his intellect!" Rodney responded, stung. "Do you have any idea how smart John is?"

"He hasn't even graduated from high school yet, and you have him giving guest lectures?"

"No! He wasn't lecturing, just ... answering some of the easier physics questions! Did you hear me when I said he's _smart_?"

"Well, of course he's a bright boy, but he's not ..."

"He should already be in a university program!" Rodney shot back. "I can't believe you think he's ... he's just _bright_. Has anyone ever even taken the time to test him?"

"Oh, god, don't start transferring your boy genius complex on my nephew!"

"This is not transference!"

"He has a C average in almost all of his classes!" Dr Weir said.

"He's obviously been too bored out of his mind and under-stimulated to even care about his so-called classes!" Rodney shot back.

"I can't speak to you when you get like this, Rodney. I'll ... call you in a few days."

"Fine, you do that. Meanwhile, I'll test him myself just to prove it to you!"

But Dr. Weir wasn't on the line to hear that; she'd already hung up and left Rodney ranting at a dial tone. He nearly threw the phone across the room.

Suddenly, Rodney had a surprisingly strong body pressing him down onto the couch, crawling over him, and a hot, wet mouth on his own.

Rodney was too astonished to fight back, and gave in to the hard, talented kiss with a groan. John's tongue swept against his like wildfire, fucking his mouth with enthusiasm, coupled with a sweet moan of his own that made Rodney clutch at the narrow hips straddling his.

Finally, John pulled back and gave Rodney a slightly glazed, happy grin. "Thank you."

Rodney blinked. "What?"

"Thank you," John said again, giving him another kiss, soft and sweet. "No one's ever ... said things like that about me before."

"I ... just told her the truth," Rodney said. His hands relaxed and gripped again where he held John still.

John smiled, looking open and honest and so incredibly vulnerable. "No one's ever stood up for me before, either."

"Well, she was being completely irrational," Rodney mumbled.

"Yeah, but still, you ..."

"Oh, god," Rodney groaned, and then more loudly, "Oh, _god_!" as he pushed John off him. "I just ... she's your aunt, but she's my _boss_! I just mouthed off to my boss and then ... mouthed all over _you_!"

John's expression went from incredibly vulnerable to incredibly hurt in about two seconds flat. "Sorry it was so horrible for you!"

"Oh, _god_!" Rodney repeated, covering his face with his hands.

"Thought you didn't believe in God," John said sarcastically. "You sure do say that a lot for an atheist. You're probably going to hell for taking the name in vain."

"I'm going to hell for letting you ... for participating ... oh, god," Rodney grumbled without looking at him.

"You weren't complaining a minute ago."

"You took me by surprise!" Rodney said accusingly. "You ... jumped me!"

"And you _loved_ it!"

"Oh, _god_!"

"There you go again ..."

"It's an _expression_!"

A few quiet, tense minutes ticked past. And then ...

"So ..." John said, sounding a little more like himself, "it's okay to make out with me, as long as you can blame me for it?"

"Don't even think about it," Rodney grumbled.

"What if I attacked you in the shower with a blow-job?" John said. When Rodney finally looked at him, he saw that the cheeky, sexy grin was firmly back in place. John's mind was obviously working overtime.

Rodney looked at him in horror. "You _wouldn't_!"

"Oh, I so, so would," John said. He licked his bottom lip in what had to be an absolutely intentional way.

"Evil, _evil_ little brat."

"You like me," John sing-songed.

"Oh, god help me, I do."

*

When Rodney took his shower that day, and the day after, he spent some time just staring at the lock on the bathroom door, debating whether or not he should lock it. The first time, he didn't, the second time, he did. The first time, John didn't come in. The second time ...

"Hey, Rodney?"

"Oh, _god_ ," Rodney said, but what he was really thinking was _yesyes, thank you, yes!_

"Just wanted to let you know that I know how to pick locks," John called to him. Why was he not jumping into the shower and getting on his knees the way Rodney's brain was screaming for him to?

"Uh, okay?" Rodney answered.

"And no, I'm not gonna do it," John said.

Well, _shit_. "I don't want you to!"

"Uh huh," John said knowingly. "Unless you _ask_ me to, and then I'd be more than willing to join you."

"That's not going to happen!" Rodney said, holding onto his dignity by tips of his fingers.

"Your loss!" John said cheerfully, and slammed the bathroom door closed.

Rodney gripped his cock with one hand and jerked himself off quickly and miserably once he was gone.

After he'd dressed and taken a few good deep breaths, he made his way downstairs. The first thing he saw was a very knowing, very irritating expression on John's face.

"New rule," Rodney said, holding up a finger. "No more lock-picking."

John shrugged. "I just wanted you to know I could."

"You could have just _told_ me. You didn't have to show me and ... do that."

"Do what?" John asked innocently.

"You know what."

"No, really, you've got me curious, now," John said, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a smirk. "Tell me, Rodney." He _drawled_ the name, making it sound like it was a word better suited for cheap pornography.

"Shut up," Rodney grumbled.

"I love it when you sweet talk me like that," John said.

Rodney huffed and walked past him like he didn't want to kiss that look right off that too-pretty-for-his-own-good face.

John, of course, followed right behind him. "What're we doing today?"

"I have to go into the lab again. Got an email a little while ago that Radek and Calvin are fighting over some simulation, and I need to step in and settle it."

"Wanna eat something first?" John asked hopefully. "I can cook."

"I'll grab a sandwich or something."

"What, suddenly you don't like my cooking? Or are you trying to punish me for seducing you."

"You haven't seduced me!"

"Fine," John said impatiently. "My _attempted_ seduction. Whatever. Are you mad at me?"

"Irritated. I'm irritated," Rodney said. He didn't think it was possible to be _angry_ with John. "And how would me wanting you to take a break from cooking be a punishment?" He turned and looked at John, who was staring down at his -- bare -- feet.

"I like doing stuff for you," John admitted quietly.

"Oh, for god's sake, _why_?" Rodney asked. "You're not my ... little woman! You don't have to take care of me!"

John looked a little hurt by that. "But you _need_ taking care of!"

"I'm a grown man!"

"Unlike me?"

Rodney softened his voice. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean ... you don't have to keep doing things like cooking and the laundry. Yes, I noticed that, too. You don't have to do all that stuff for me to ... to like you."

John looked up again, a fragile, hopeful expression on his face. "I don't?"

Rodney sighed. "No."

"Okay," John said. He looked a little shy and way, way too young, which just reminded Rodney of the whole problem all over again.

"C'mon," Rodney said. "How 'bout I make _you_ a sandwich?"

***

The fight in the lab had nearly come to teeth and claws by the time John and Rodney got there. Rodney refused to listen to either side, just took a look at the data and stated what needed to be done, and why the sim was going wrong. Radek looked triumphant, and Calvin moped. Since Rodney hadn't asked either of them to tell him what was going on, no one could claim favoritism, even though Rodney happened to think Calvin was a moron and wished he could kick him off the project. Unfortunately, there was some blatant nepotism going around the university when candidates were chosen for Rodney's project, and everyone there was stuck with Calvin and his very loose grasp of astrophysics.

After the situation was diffused properly, Rodney and John went back home.

"Hey, Rodney?" John asked, plopping down on the couch. He managed a very distracting sprawl without any effort whatsoever.

"What?"

"That project of yours. Say something happened and you had to leave the university ..."

Which was exactly what Rodney was afraid would happen if he let himself touch John again. "Yeah?" Rodney asked hesitantly.

"What happens to the project? I mean, can you just work on it somewhere else?"

"No," Rodney said flatly. "All my work belongs to the university. If _something_ happened, say, if I was fired for diddling the dean's nephew," he said with a pointed look, "I'd never be able to complete the project or publish any of the results I've found so far."

John frowned and looked thoughtful. "What about ... like, intellectual property rights? If they're _your_ ideas, and _your_ work ..."

Rodney sighed and plopped right down next to John on the couch. "It all belongs to the university."

"Christ, that's like ... like slavery!" John said, aghast.

"You have no idea," Rodney said mournfully. "I don't even want to _think_ about what it would be like for Radek and that jerk Calvin to be cited on anything, without _my_ name even mentioned in passing. And I have two _years_ before I can even think about leaving. I mean, before the project is completed and the papers written up ... it might come to more than two years, even."

John leaned over and rested his head on Rodney's shoulder. Maybe it was supposed to be comforting. Maybe it was supposed to be more. Rodney couldn't be sure.

"That sucks," John said.

Rodney couldn't help but bring a hand up to run through John's hair. "Yeah, it does."

"I ... I'm sorry," John said. "I kept thinking this was all about me, and thinking that you didn't want me, and pretty much just feeling sorry for myself, and it's not like that at all."

The wistful, vulnerable tone to John's voice had something in Rodney melting. His heart thumped in his chest and he swallowed, hard. "It's not like that at all," Rodney echoed, leaning down to kiss John's forehead.

John tipped his head up and whispered, "I'm sorry," again before kissing Rodney. It was soft, and sweet, just like Rodney's kiss to his forehead had been. And then John repeated, "I'm sorry," against Rodney's mouth and kissed him again, just as sweetly but deeper, longer, and Rodney pulled him closer so that he could feel the heat of John's body against his own. It seared him even though it traveled through two layers of clothes. Which made Rodney wonder how hot John would be against him if they were skin to skin, and he pulled him even closer against him, turning John's body so they were almost flush against each other.

"Such a bad idea," Rodney murmured, but John was on top of him now, straddling him again, and Rodney didn't care one way or the other. "Oh, god."

John wiggled a little, and Rodney let his hands travel down his back to cup his ass. It was small and perfect beneath his loose-fitting jeans, and filled Rodney's hands perfectly as he squeezed. He kissed John more deeply, getting to know that sweet, teasing mouth with his lips and tongue.

"Please, Rodney," John gasped, pulling back a little, letting Rodney nibble on his jaw and down to his neck. "Please, don't stop."

"I ... god, I don't want to," Rodney said with a groan, tasting John's skin like it was a delicacy. His hands moved up from John's ass to ride up under the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling nothing but smooth, smooth skin stretched tight over wiry muscle and sinew.

"Then don't," John said, and ground his ass against Rodney's cock. "Don't stop."

"Bad idea," Rodney repeated, trying to remember _why_ , even though they'd just finished the conversation that laid it out bare.

"I know, I'm sorry, I want you," John gasped, grinding down more, making Rodney groan and push up against him.

"Fuck," Rodney said, pulling John's t-shirt over his head and throwing it aside. He let himself look his fill, running his hands over John's chest, tweaking the small, flat nipples, skimming fingertips over ribs and abs and then tugging at the fly of John's jeans. "God, you're hot."

"Gnuh," John replied as Rodney freed his cock and wrapped his hand around the hard, hot length of it.

"Hot," Rodney said again, and captured John's mouth as he stroked.

John groaned and gasped into Rodney's kiss, pulling back just a little to whisper, "I'm ... don't ... hair-trigger here."

"Yeah, let go, John, I want to see you ..."

John reached between them and tried to get at Rodney's erection, too, but Rodney pushed his hands away.

"Don't, I want you to come for me," Rodney said hoarsely. "Let me do this." He added a twist, wished he could reach down and wrap his mouth around John. "Just ..."

" _Fuck_ ," John swore, arching and pushing into Rodney's hand.

"Come for me, John," Rodney said, pinching a nipple and nibbling on John's neck. "C'mon, do it, let go."

John gasped and shuddered, then came all over Rodney's hand and shirt.

"God, that's hot," Rodney said, taking John's breathless mouth with his own and kissing him deeply. "Thank you."

John was still shaking, his hands fisted in Rodney's shirt, holding on like he'd fall off into nothingness if he ever let go.

*

Rodney ended up wiping his hand off on his already messy shirt and holding John against him. He didn't have any regrets, at least not right then, and having John gasping and recovering in his arms made him feel almost _tender_ towards him.

"I didn't want to ..." John said, and broke off when his voice cracked. He took a deep breath and pulled back a little. "Why didn't you ... "

Rodney kissed John's swollen lips and smiled. "I wanted to watch you. I wanted to see you come, just like that, all for me."

John didn't seem to get it.

"But you didn't get to come," John pointed out. He reached between them again and stroked over Rodney's cock through his pants. "Let me? I want to ..."

And Rodney wanted him to. More than anything. But he said, "You don't have to," anyway.

"But I _want_ to," John said, and his eyes were gleaming and he was giving Rodney that smile again.

"Remember when I said this was a bad idea?" Rodney said slowly.

"Oh, please, don't start on that again," John said, but he was looking apprehensive. Then he changed his tone and spoke softer, more intimately. "I'm not going to do anything to fuck you up, Rodney. I wouldn't. I _couldn't_. I know ... I get it. What's at stake, I mean." He leaned forward and up, pressing his lips to Rodney's forehead, to his nose, his eyelids and cheeks. "I won't tell anyone, you know I won't," he said sincerely.

And Rodney _trusted_ John, even though he never trusted anyone, especially with something as important as this. "I know," Rodney said, leaning in to rest his forehead against John's.

"Then let me, Rodney. I want to ... I want to suck you off."

Rodney groaned a little at that image, and at the husky, wanton quality of John's voice. "Yeah. Yeah, do it," he whispered. He'd passed the point of no return.

"I can't," John said after a minute. "I don't have any ... you know. Uh, condoms."

"Shit," Rodney said. He didn't have any either. It really had been too long since he'd gotten laid. He groaned and thumped his head back against the couch cushions. "This sucks."

"Tell me about it!" John said mournfully. "You're finally right where I want you, and I can't ... do what I want!"

"Shit," Rodney swore again. The sentiment bore repeating.

"I can give you a hand-job," John said, but it was obvious he'd rather be on his knees, sucking Rodney off, and that made the situation even worse. "You know, return the favor."

Rodney felt like crying. "Do we have, like, saran wrap or something?"

"Ew," John said, making a face like he'd sucked a lemon. Which was a bad visual, because 1. citrus and 2. not sexy at all.

"Okay, it's okay, forget it," Rodney said, rapidly losing his erection.

"I'm sorry," John said. "I'll totally make it up to you when we've got, you know. Or, hey, I've got a pretty quick recovery time, you know. We can, uh, hump."

"You sweet talker, you," Rodney said dryly.

John grinned. "I'll bet by the time we made it upstairs, I'd be ready again," he said. He wiggled against Rodney enticingly. "I can whisper sweet formulas in your ear."

"You're absolutely shameless," Rodney said, but his interest was piqued.

"Kinetic energy equals one-half times mass times velocity squared," John whispered hotly.

Rodney's cock twitched and he groaned. "Go on," he said, pushing John off so he could get to his feet.

"Voltage across primary coil over voltage across secondary coil equals the number of turns on primary coil over the number of turns across secondary coil," John said as he tromped up the steps behind Rodney.

"Eh, try again," Rodney said, even though he was already hard again.

"Baryon number equals the number of quarks minus the number of anti-quarks divided by three?"

"Oh, god, yes," Rodney said, practically throwing John onto his bed.

John grinned up at him and yanked his fly open. "More conserved qualities, or would you rather have a little fundamental symmetry?"

"Oh, shut up," Rodney said, kissing John hard and deep, then pulled back to smirk at John's dazed face. "Smart-assed little brat."

"You're just kinky," John murmured.

Rodney licked John's neck and groaned at the contact of hard flesh against John's jeans. "You're the one that doesn't wear any underwear. I knew it."

"Mmm, you've been thinking about it," John gasped, tugging Rodney's khakis and boxers down a little more and squeezing his bare ass.

"Wait, stop," Rodney said.

"What is it?"

Rodney frowned. "Did you say minus anti-quarks divided by three?"

"Uh huh," John said, trying to pull Rodney down again.

Rodney scrambled for a pen in his nightstand. His hand ran over a forgotten bottle of lube and he pulled that out, too, dropping it on the bed beside them. "That's wrong," he said, and uncapped the pen with his teeth.

"What?" John said, a little confused.

"Here." Rodney ran the pen over the bare skin of John's stomach, slowly and methodically. "If x equals quarks and y is anti-quarks ..." he said, then wrote, _B = (x - y)/3_.

John shivered and looked down. "That's what I said!"

Rodney ignored him. "Or, you could write it like this," he said, making a little blue scribble over the _/3_ before he drew a line under the _(x - y)_ and drawing a nice, fat three underneath it, curling the bottom of the number around John's navel.

"God, that's hot," John panted. "I think I've figured out my major already."

"Now, repeat after me," Rodney said, scooting down and running his fingers lightly over the ink. "B equals the _quantity_ x minus y divided by three."

"B equals the quantity ... Rodney, damn it!"

Rodney smiled mildly and pulled down John's jeans. "Go on ..."

John looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "The Baryon number equals the quantity of quarks minus anti-quarks divided by three," he drawled slowly. "You bastard."

Rodney grinned up at him, unrepentant, and blew hot air over John's erection, making John moan and fist his hands in the sheets. "I thought my brain was sexy," he said teasingly.

"I'm not wanting your brain right now," John gasped.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," Rodney said, and started pulling John's jeans off the rest of the way, scooting down to the foot of the bed as he did. "Huh."

"What?"

"No skinned knees," Rodney said, and playfully nibbled at John's toes.

John's voice was smug. "I knew you liked my feet."

"God, I just want to _play_ with you," Rodney said, a little bewildered. Most of his past sexual experiences had been quick and dirty, or too serious to have any actual _fun_ with. John was different. He was sexy and flirty and smart enough to keep up with Rodney's shifting thoughts. It was completely new, and totally unexpected.

"So ... play," John said with a grin, wiggling his body this way and that as if to say, _Here, come and amuse yourself, I'm all yours!_

"You are ..."

"Awesome?" John said, taking one of his perfect toes and poking Rodney in the cheek. "Cool? Fun?"

"Yeah," Rodney answered.

"Take your clothes off," John said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

And, okay, he could do that. Did do it, lightning quick, not even stopping to think about how his body might compare to John's, which was all tanned, lithe muscle and Rodney's ... wasn't, not so much.

"C'mere," John said, and his eyes were dark and gleaming, and Rodney figured, oh, what the hell, and climbed on top of John.

The second his cock brushed against John's, they both gasped. Which made John laugh, and Rodney laughed too, because it was funny and hot at the same time. John's mouth was just as hot and slick as it had been before, except this time, when Rodney was thrusting against John's cock with his own, it was like what was going on down there was happening right here, too, tongues fucking each other just as eagerly.

But Rodney had a plan, and he wasn't about to be thwarted. He reached out with one hand and grabbed the bottle of lube and uncapped it, then did a quick rolling motion that ended with John on top of him again, which was perfect, and John was right where he wanted him.

"What're you doing?" John mumbled, riding against him like fire in motion.

Rodney didn't answer, just ran slick, slick fingers down the crease of John's ass. John gasped and bucked against him, his cock eager and thrusting against his.

"Oh, _oh_ , Rodney, that's ..."

And then Rodney pushed one finger inside, and it was a tight fit, tighter than he'd expected, but not so tight that he was worried about hurting John.

"Oh, yeah, that's good, that's ... fuck," John said, pushing back against Rodney's finger, taking him deeper, hissing a little.

Rodney was transfixed, feeling John's muscles flexing against him, pushing in where it was hot and tight and slick and _perfect_ , just like that, just the place Rodney was sure would welcome his cock just as eagerly. He pushed another finger in, slowly, and he felt the stretch and heard John's mutters of _burn, hot, yes. More._ So Rodney pushed in further, crooked his fingers just a little, and watched as John's jumped. Heard the gasp of _Oh, yeah, **yeah**._

John was completely out of it, and Rodney let his other hand clasp their cocks, stroking them together, and John got the hang of riding one hand while he pushed into the other, fucking and being fucked, and Rodney was so damned turned on just from watching John that he was so close again, _so close_ , and he hoped to god John was as close as he was, because there was no way he was going to last, not now.

Rodney had to squeeze John's cock to keep him from losing focus, because the way John was bucking and staring wildly, he wasn't thinking at all. And Rodney wanted him out of his head with it, but he didn't want him to forget where he was, what he was doing, or who he was with. Who was doing it to him. Which was weird, because Rodney usually didn't care about any of those things when it came to sex, because he was too busy wondering when he was going to get off. This was different. This was him thinking more about his partner than himself, which was scary to contemplate. Not that he was contemplating too hard, because John was breathless and gasping and just _right_ , saying his name with one breath and then, _hothothot_ coming with the next.

One more twist of his fingers inside John, pressing up and right _there_ , squeezing his cock against his own, then two more jerky thrusts and Rodney was coming with him, and it was messy and hot and slick between them, better than any sex Rodney'd ever had before.

John gave him one speechless, extraordinary look before collapsing on top of him, all sweat and come and shaking muscles.

Rodney wrapped his arms around him, not caring about the weight at all, and held on tight.

*

"So ..." John said lazily, rolling over onto his stomach. The profile of spine to ass to legs was like art, and Rodney added _condomscondomscondoms_ to his mental imperative-to-life list. "If you weren't working on your project for the university, what would you be doing instead?"

"Why?" Rodney asked.

"Just curious. I mean, I don't know what you're working on or anything, but ..."

Rodney grinned. "Neutralizing large quantities of negatively charged particles."

"Really?" John said, perking up a little. "For what?"

"Well, it could have several applications ..." Rodney said coyly.

"Pfft. Tell me."

"Is this your version of pillow talk?"

John grinned and swatted Rodney playfully. "Oh, sorry, you wanted a sonnet?"

Rodney snorted. "Not hardly."

"Tellllll me, Rodney."

"Do you know anything about electrostatic shields?"

"Just basic theory," John said, running a finger over Rodney's temple. "Explain."

"I'm working on depleting electron beams. You know, from a field."

"For what?"

Rodney knew his eyes were twinkling. "Space travel."

John shot straight up and stared at Rodney. "Electrostatic shielding from radiation in _space_?" he said, blinking rapidly. "Oh my god, you're working on electrically charged spacecraft theory?"

"Yep," Rodney said smugly.

"Oh my god!" John repeated. "That's so fucking _cool_!"

Okay, no one had ever said _that_ about Rodney's research. Sure, there were murmurs of excitement among his collegues, but never with those words. Rodney had never done anything _cool_ in his life.

"You really think so?"

"Yeah!" John said, nearly bouncing on the bed. "I mean, practical applications for space travel, that's amazing! Do you think you're going to do it? Figure it out? Are you gonna design the shielding yourself?"

"Well, no," Rodney said slowly, hating to burst John's bubble. "I'm only working on ... you know, the neutralization of electron beam. But yeah, I think I'm going to do it. Eventually. I mean, I've already been able to do it on a small scale, but ..."

"It's still cool," John said.

"It won't _have_ a practical application until someone figures out how to generate the kind of electrical current the shield requires in the first place."

"Still. Cool," John said, leaning down to kiss Rodney. "You're so damned sexy."

Rodney gave him a dubious look. "Uh huh. You're just warped."

"I appreciate your ... talents."

"I'm sure you do," Rodney said, pushing himself up on his elbows and kissing John again. "But ... what you asked before. About what I'd be doing?"

"Yeah, that. Not so important now."

"What, because you think my grand contribution to space travel is so important? There's at least twenty other scientists working on the same problem right now. Even if I _am_ on the right track now, there's no telling if one of them is going to beat me to it. And, like I said, without the energy source ..."

"Oh," John said, looking slightly deflated.

"Not so cool, now?"

"Still cool," John said. He leaned in and licked at Rodney's lower lip.

"But there's other things I could be doing, you're right," Rodney said, smiling against John's mouth. "I could get a government contract pretty easily, although I probably wouldn't have my own project, I'd get stuck on someone else's. Might be interesting, though. Never know who's working on what top-secret, classified thing. Having a little clearance would be nice."

"Or?"

"Or, there's always going to work for a corporation. Which I really, really don't want to do. All of this is just more of the same, working for someone else, having everything that's _mine_ taken and used for _them_ , and I still wouldn't own anything. I'd get the prestige, but ..."

"Slavery," John said, nodding.

"God, how'd you get so smart?"

John blushed a little and shrugged.

"And how'd you manage to get this far in your life without someone _noticing_?"

John pulled a face at that. "I guess ... no one really paid attention?"

"You can _make_ people pay attention," Rodney said. He knew it from experience. "Sometimes the only way to make someone realize your genius is to beat them over the head with it."

"Not really my style," John said uncomfortably.

"I don't know, you seem to be doing a pretty good job of it lately."

"Yeah, well, you're a bad influence," John grumbled.

Rodney laughed and rolled over on top of John to kiss him senseless.

***

Thursday morning came just a little earlier than Rodney expected, probably because he spent most of the afternoon and night before playing with John. Which was something he was trying not to ponder. He would think, _Oh, god, this is the most amazing thing ever,_ and then his conscience would kick in and he'd think, _Oh, god, this is the worst idea I've ever had_ , which would quickly turn into, _This is the best idea I've ever had in my life!_ when John seemed to sense his mood and did everything he could possibly do to distract him.

Distracted. That was exactly what he was. When Rodney went in to work, he let his mind and mouth just run on autopilot, spouting theoretical physics he knew without even thinking about it, and all the time, he was trying really, really hard not to look over at his 'TA' and wondering how much longer until he got to get naked with him again. Which, of course, sent him into another panic of _Oh, god, worst idea **ever**_ , but then John would smile at him and he'd forget all about that in favor of thinking of that mouth, and that skin, and all that potential wrapped up in a gorgeous body.

Rodney spent most of class behind his desk, partly because he was worn out and partly because he didn't want his students to see he had the biggest hard-on he'd ever had. Not only would it be embarrassing, but it would probably lead to speculations and rumors, and there went his mind again, _Worst idea **ever**_.

Somehow, he managed to get through his three classes. Somehow, he managed to visit the lab and check on some of the simulations. Somehow, he was able to tell them he would be working at home, and if anyone needed him they should give him a call or shoot him an email.

Somehow, he managed not to run the car off the road on his way to the drug store, and then again on his way home, because John was saying filthy, amazing things in his ear and rubbing Rodney's cock through his pants, and managing to be just about the most distracting person Rodney'd ever come across in his _life_.

Just when Rodney was pulling up to the house, thinking about the best way to fuck John – over the couch? On the kitchen table? Would they be able to make it up the stairs? Maybe he'd fuck John right there on the staircase, making him writhe and clutch at the banister as he – he noticed the car in the driveway. Not just any car. He _knew_ that car, and he let out a groan that was full of desperation and frustration and everything else he was feeling.

"What?" John asked, not looking up, mouthing Rodney's nipples through his shirt.

"My sister. My fucking _sister_ ," Rodney said. He parked, pushed John away, and banged his head against the steering wheel.

*

"Oh, _god_ ," Rodney said again, and then snapped, "Straighten your clothes. Oh, god, I have wet spots all over me where your mouth ... oh god. The bag! Um, here, put it in my briefcase." He was scrambling like a madman, blowing on the front of his shirt where there was definitely a nice, big, sucking wet spot over one of his nipples. He grabbed a sports jacket from the back seat -- slightly rumpled, but it would hide things well enough -- and shoved his arms through it. "God, your mouth looks like you've been making out all day. Can't fix that. I don't think," he said, leaning over to rub his thumb over John's lips gently. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _Shit_."

"Rodney ..."

"She's gonna ... god, she has a key to the house, she's probably already figured it out, seen your clothes thrown all over the bedroom, stained sheets, lube ... where did we leave the lube?"

"Rodney!" John said, grabbing him and shaking him a little. "Chill, okay? Sheets are in the wash, I picked up our clothes, the lube's in the night table, and I doubt your sister is rifling through your bedroom _anyway_."

"You ... okay. Okay, you're right. I just have to ..."

"Breathe, Rodney."

"Yes, yes, that's it. Breathe. I just have to breathe. Oh, god, this is _not_ how I imagined this day ending."

John gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, me neither, but we've gotta deal, okay?"

"Deal. Okay. Breathe, deal, breathe, this is going to be fine."

John leaned over and kissed Rodney on the cheek. "It is. I promise. Just, calm down, and we'll go in."

John seemed to change right before Rodney's eyes. Suddenly, he wasn't a lanky teenaged sexpot, but a confident young man with a straight back and an all around mature look to him. It didn't seem to matter that he was wearing a too-thin t-shirt, jeans and sneakers. Rodney didn't have enough time to think about this before John was walking with Rodney up to the door and going inside.

Rodney expected Jeannie to meet them at the door. She wasn't there. She wasn't in the living room, either, although a couple of boxes were. Instead, they found her in the kitchen rifling through a drawer, grabbing a spoon. She already had a half-gallon of ice cream in one hand.

"Jeannie?" Rodney said hesitantly.

When she turned around and lifted her head, Rodney knew he was in trouble. Her eyes and rose were red, her eyelids puffy. She'd been crying, and Rodney was never good with crying females.

"Rodney." Her voice was hollow and hoarse. "I let myself in."

"I ... see that," Rodney said, not knowing what else he could possibly say.

John did, though. "Hey, you okay? You look like shit." His words might have been offensive coming from someone else, but John seemed to add a note of concern to his voice that made it all right.

Jeannie sniffed and gave John a half-smile. "Yeah, I figured."

"I'm John, by the way," he said, coming forward and taking the ice cream and spoon from her. "C'mon, let's go in the living room. Wanna watch TV with me?"

Rodney watched, completely bemused. What was _this_? He followed as John led Jeannie to the couch and grabbed the remote, flipping to the TV Guide channel.

" _100 Most Embarrassing Celebrity Moments_. Sound good to you?" John asked.

Jeannie looked so incredibly grateful. When John draped a throw over her legs, handed her a pillow and her ice cream, Jeannie's look went from grateful to adoring.

Rodney continued to wonder just what the hell was going on.

"Um, Jeannie?" he said, folding his arms across his chest and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "You want to tell me what you're doing here?"

John scowled at him. "Leave her alone. When she wants to talk, she'll talk."

"Thanks, John," Jeannie said with a pathetic sniffle.

Oh, this was just _great_. His teenaged boyfriend and his big sister were _bonding_.

"I've got work to do," Rodney mumbled, leaving the two of them alone. Which may have been a bad idea on any other occasion, but he trusted John not to say anything incriminating about their relationship, and if he didn't get out of the room right that second, away from the little pity-party that Jeannie seemed to be throwing for herself -- aided by John, of course -- he was going to say something stupid.

John gave him sort of a vague wave goodbye, which was a bit disconcerting. Rodney didn't _stomp_ out of the room, but he wanted to. Jeannie was obviously having one of those girl-things, and John seemed to know exactly what was going on without even talking to her. Rodney wished, at times, that he had those kinds of interpersonal relationship-type skills. Most of the time, however, he was quite happy to leave that to other people. From what he could tell, it usually ended in long, idiotic conversation and, in situations such as these, snot on your shirt.

When he came back two hours later, he found John and Jeannie snuggled together on the sofa, giggling at some asinine thing on the E! channel. He probably should have been happy that Jeannie was in a lighter mood, but damn it, it should be _Rodney_ snuggled up with John, not his sister.

_Jealousy does not become you_ , he reminded himself, and cleared his throat.

"Rodney!" Jeannie said, as if she were suddenly delighted to see him. "Why didn't you tell me about John? He's _wonderful_!"

Rodney frowned, bit his lip, and shuffled his feet guiltily. "I, uh, that is ..."

"We haven't been seeing each other that long, Jeannie," John said, grinning up at Rodney. Rodney's throat felt like it was going to close up on him, and his stomach did the kind of flip he only imagined happened on rollercoasters or the like.

"Really? You'd never know it. You talk about him like you two have been together forever," Jeannie said, squeezing John's knee. Okay, that was it, inappropriate touching was the limit.

"John, if I could see you for a minute?" Rodney said tersely. "In the other room? Right _now_?"

Once Rodney had John trapped in the kitchen, he didn't quite know how to begin. "What ... Does she? Are you ..." He took a deep breath and yelled, in his loudest whispering voice, "What the hell did you tell her?"

John put his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "Rodney? Calm down. I didn't tell her anything, really. She mostly assumed a lot of things, and I just didn't correct her. She figured out we're together ..."

"We're together?" Rodney echoed weakly, but John went on as if he'd said nothing.

"... and I just mostly listened to a few things she had to say. She's pretty cool, you know?"

"Jeannie?" _Cool_? His sister?

"Yeah. So, you know, she's having a rough time and she'll be here for a little while. Her boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend -- he was a total asshole to her, and you're going to do everything you can to make her feel welcome and loved, because that's what she needs."

Since when did John become an expert on Rodney's family?

"I, well, yes, of course," Rodney said.

John beamed at him. "Good," he said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Rodney moaned a little -- the taste of John was so _sweet_. "Wait!" he said, backing up. "Just ... no. Jeannie's here!"

John just raised his eyebrows.

"I mean, we can't! If she finds out, there'll be trouble."

"Finds out what?" John asked innocently. "She already knows we're together. I'm not telling her anything else, you know?"

"But ..."

"It's _okay_ , Rodney. It's _fine_."

"But what if she starts looking at you and figures out that you're ... you're barely old enough to _drive_!" Rodney hissed.

John rolled his eyes.

"I'm _serious_!"

"Rodney, listen, okay? She's your big sister. She's always gonna see you as, well, a kid. She sees me next to you and she sees ... two kids. Now, say, if she saw you with someone older than you, or even the same age, she'd probably be thinking he was taking advantage or something. Me? I'm on steady, even footing with you in her eyes."

Rodney thought this over. He thought about John, and about Jeannie, and how Jeannie usually treated him, no matter what age he became. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Um, okay, I guess you have a point. As long as the numbers don't come up, I think we're ..."

"Safe. Totally, completely safe. So chill out, Rodney. We're good. It's all ... good." And then John took Rodney's mouth again, with more serious intent this time.

*

Rodney and John didn't get much alone time in the next few days. Sexual frustration sent Rodney into a frenzy of work, not only on the project he had running at the university, but also in acquiring several tests and information on how to get John tested out of high school and directly into a college program.

When John wasn't spending time with Jeannie -- building up her self-esteem and commiserating with her on the subject of horrible ex-boyfriends -- he was trying to seduce Rodney. He used just about every technique known to man to make Rodney give in, but Rodney just couldn't do it, not with his sister in the house. There was too much risk, too much at stake, and Jeannie wouldn't even leave the house for an hour or so, not even when Rodney oh so subtly suggested she go take in a movie by herself.

John didn't seem to get it. Rodney could tell he was growing more and more frustrated with him, but there was nothing he could do. He was torn between needing to keep things as safe as possible and desperately wanting to fuck John into the mattress.

Grudgingly, John took the tests Rodney gave him. Rodney knew it wasn't because he wasn't interested, but because he was irritated with Rodney's distance. Rodney wanted to scream at him, _You think this isn't hard on me, too?_ but he held that particular thought inside.

John tested above and beyond what Rodney had expected on every examination given to him. But the thrill of it seemed muted, somehow, and Rodney didn't even feel like taking the results and throwing them in Dr. Weir's face the way he'd been planning.

Rodney went to work, taught his classes, but that, too, seemed boring. John didn't come with him, instead deciding to stay home with Jeannie. "She's lonely," he explained, and the voice he used suggested, as Rodney already knew, that John knew exactly what that meant.

The calendar in Rodney's office told him there were only four days left with John. The thought hurt more than he'd expected. He tried not to hold on to any delusions that they'd ever see each other again after this, and that just depressed him more.

***

"I miss you," John said quietly.

Jeannie had gone up to bed early, and the two of them were sitting on the sofa, not really paying attention to the television. They weren't touching either, as if there were some kind of heavy shadow between them, keeping them apart.

Rodney blinked and turned to John, knowing exactly what he meant but not quite willing to admit he felt the same way.

"It was easier, before, when we were just hanging out and ... I don't know," John said miserably. "I miss talking to you."

Sighing, Rodney opened up his arms and John went to him immediately.

"I've missed this, too," John mumbled against Rodney's chest. He stroked his cheek against Rodney's shirt.

"I'm sorry," Rodney said.

"We still have some time." John's voice sounded defeated despite his words.

Rodney just held him tighter, knowing it wouldn't be long before he'd have to give this up.

Suddenly, John stiffened in Rodney's arms and sat up. He looked angry, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright.

"This is _bullshit_ ," John growled. "I shouldn't have to do what everyone else thinks is right for me just because of how old I am."

Rodney nodded, but he didn't know what to say to that other than, "You're right. It's not fair."

"You're damned right it's not fair!" John exclaimed. He got up from the couch and started pacing. "I took the fucking tests, I should be in college. I should be ... I don't know, hell, I just know I shouldn't be tossed around from place to place on my family's whim. I just ... it's not right!"

Rodney raised his eyebrows and just watched John's tirade.

"All my life I've been trying to get some kind of approval from someone, _anyone_ , and all they do is just pass me around and farm me out." John stopped his pacing and glared at Rodney. "Do you know what's going to happen to me next? I'll tell you. I'll stay with Aunt Liz until my father finds another fucking boarding school to ship me off to, and then I'll be stuck there until I figure out some way to get kicked out. No one gives a _shit_ about me, Rodney. I've never stood up for myself, and I've never had anyone on _my_ side."

"I'm on your side, John," Rodney said quietly.

John's expression softened. "Well, you're the first. But it's time I did something about my life. It's time I—" He sat beside Rodney on the sofa again and looked at him pleadingly. "Will you help me?"

"I'll do anything I can to help you. I just don't know how," Rodney answered.

"You're a genius. We'll figure something out together," John said, certainty clear in his voice.

Rodney couldn't help but gently stroke John's cheek. Protectiveness rose up inside him and he leaned in to kiss John tenderly. "We will."

"I'm sorry I've been such a dick to you lately," John muttered.

Rodney drew back and shook his head. "Both of us are a little guilty of that. I'll forgive you if you forgive me." He kissed John's nose, trying to draw a smile out of him.

It worked, and John's face relaxed into a grin. "I've really, really missed you. Us. I've missed _us_."

It was a revelation of sorts. Rodney realized he missed _them_ as well. The bantering, the flirting, the cuddling – things that had nothing to do with sex at all. His bad mood hadn't been entirely brought on by sexual frustration, but the thought of losing John altogether.

"I've missed _us_ , too," he admitted.

"We'll figure something out," John said again. And then, quietly, a little unsure, "We've got something here, don't we?"

Rodney knew exactly what John meant, it was the issue he'd been trying not to think about for days. He still felt conflicted about it, one part of him warring with the other, his heart against his mind. But if they _could_ find a solution, if they could find some way to –

John seemed to take the lack of response as a denial, and he tried to pull away. Rodney quickly wrapped his arms around John and pulled him close again. "Yeah, we do," he said, his voice choked.

"You're scared?" John said, relaxing in Rodney's arms.

Rodney snorted. "I'm not –" Then he sighed. There was no use lying to John, he was way too perceptive for that. "Fuck. Yes, I'm scared out of my mind."

"Why?" John said, his head against Rodney's shoulder, his face nuzzling his neck.

"I don't want to lose you," Rodney confessed. "I don't _want_ to care, but ..."

John kissed Rodney's neck, leaned down a little and then nibbled at his collarbone through his shirt. "It's okay," he said.

Rodney pulled him closer until John was practically sitting on his lap, and then kissed him deeply. He _would_ figure something out, some way to keep John with him. He _had_ to.

He didn't want to admit to himself the reason _why_ he couldn't lose John. He didn't want to face the fact that he'd fallen in love, for the first time in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and cheered while I was writing this. I'm sorry I never finished or even gave much resolution. It's just up here so I can feel like I have a more complete set of my fics. Like I said before, anyone is free to pick up where I left off, or to remix or whatever you want, as long as you link back to me.


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